


Come, Wayward souls.

by DumbTeenBoy



Category: Coraline - All Media Types, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Bad Poetry, Coraline AU, Edelwood Trees, Greg is Sweet, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other, Realization, Wirt's Poetry, long chapters, wirt is a bad brother but he's learning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23908675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumbTeenBoy/pseuds/DumbTeenBoy
Summary: Something lurks just beyond the garden wall of the Pink Palace, as Wirt soon discovers shortly after moving there, with his less than charming brother and their constantly- busy parents.Despite the warnings, what lays beyond the wall beckons him close, something is familiar.Like a second home,  of sorts.An Otgw Coraline AuTitle taken from Come, wayward souls by the blasting company.
Relationships: Beatrice & Wirt (Over the Garden Wall), Gregory & Wirt (Over the Garden Wall), Wirt and Greg's mother/Greg's father
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue- Come, Wayward Souls

Long, nimble fingers whittle away at the square block of wood set upon the table. It lies among various wooden figures, all of different sizes and shapes. the hands first carve the make up, then swiftly, they begin carving the gentle details. With ease and confidence the hands make a face, the body, tousled hair.

When the shape is satisfactory, the hands focus on delicate brush strokes, defining first the hair, the clothes- they take extra enjoyment and care in the face.

The painting is done, and the dried figure is covered generously with varnish. The hands place the figure gently on the window sill, delicately placing the name tag on the bottom, just by the boy's feet.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘮.


	2. Wander Through the Darkness

The Pink Palace was a house full of rich history-anyone in the local area could tell you that.

The house had been standing for many years, and with those years come the burden of many tales- both good and bad. 

Rumours of the area weren't uncommon- over the past hundred years seven kids had gone missing on the property, never to be found.

Of course, this was left out of Mary Took's open house tours, fear of losing the sale had struck her as she saw children run around parent's feet, and so she had chosen to leave those unpleasant details out of the grand tour.

She could do that, legally. she checked- no activity save for the last three years had to be reported. 

Eventually the house was sold, to the Palmers- what lovely people they were, a mother and her husband, with two boys, the younger of the two couldn't have been no more than six years old. 

Mary just hoped they'd be able to break whatever cycle the house seemed to be stuck in, for everyone's sake.

They really were such a nice family.

The air is crisp, as autumn evenings tend to be, when an old 98'sedan chugs up the winding driveway to the Pink Palace. Behind the car trails a U-Haul truck, filled with new opportunities and furniture too expensive to throw away.

In the back of the Sedan, two boys sit and get ready to settle into their new home.

The first boy of about six, thumps his legs enthusiastically against the bottom of his seat. With a small, but certain voice, he begins to sing, a melody and rhythm plucked randomly from his brain.

"Oh, we're pullin up now,

to the palace and i wonder how

my big ol'brother's 

gonna sing to my mother-s 

and-"

"Greg, will you _please_ stop that." the second boy says, irritation twitching in his eyes.

The second boy was older, with fifteen years behind him and his sixteenth coming fast. 

"But Wirt, how are we gonna find the frogs on our hunt if the frogs can't see us?"

"I don't- wait what?"

"Dad told me that frogs sing to each other to tell them where they are, so if we don't sing we'll never find a frog again!"

Wirt glares at his step father looking sheepish in the passenger seat. 

_This is your fault_ Wirt wants to say, _for the move_ and _for that god awful tune._

(He would never admit his brother's song was catchy and got stuck in his head the rest of the night- no sire.) 

Wirt doesn't say anything at all though, instead he heaves a sigh and stares soberly out the window, where the Pink Palace loomed larger and grew more real with every inch. 

_And with time_

_befalls the ruthless fate_

_Life sets upon me,_

_brightly beckoning_

_the horror of my own humanity-_

His impromptu poem is interrupted by another courus of his brother's stupid song, and he's tempted to ask his mother to just let him out of the car and to let him walk the rest of the drive.

The inside of the Palace is… extremely underwhelming.

For a place that flipped Wirt's entire life on its axis it was so normal.

_Boring_ , even.

He takes the quickest look around, and announces loudly that he's going to take a walk.

"Good idea, Wirt! let's go exploring!" Greg says, jumping enthusiastically from the table he decided to make into a personal jungle gym.

"Well, no i was kind of thinking I'd-"

"That's a great idea Greg! Wirt, take your brother with you and make sure he doesn't get lost."

Amelia Palmer looks to her eldest son with a stern but pleading look Wirt has only ever seen her pull off. This is her 'no getting out if it' face and he knows it.

He holds back his protests as Greg put on his green raincoat and waddles out the door behind Wirt.

"Letsa go, brother o' mine!"

"Yeah, okay Greg."

The woods are misty, the only real colour coming from the vibrant red and orange hues of the dying leaves. Wirt's fingers itch for a pen and some peace and quiet, away from the brother constantly blowing raspberries by his side.

"Okay Wirt, which is better-" a series of raspberries squirt from Greg "-or, this" slightly louder, shorter raspberries.

"Whatever Greg, both are good. How about we try to find that well,from the pamphlet?"

(the pamphlet had talked about the houses wide, rich history- but legally they could leave the unpleasantries out- they checked)

"Yeah! there could be frogs there!"

"Sure."

Sometimes Wirt felt a little bad for dismissing Greg- but then again, Greg never listened to Wirt all that well either. 

(He knows in his heart that's not true, that Greg listened to Wirt a lot more than he probably should- but he's not terribly interested in what his heart has to say at the moment.)

They walk on in silence, coming to a clearing of mud, and a single circle of mushrooms. Greg had insisted Wirt grab a huge stick they had come across along the way, claiming that it would help them find the well.

"That's...strange. The well should be right here"

The wind picks up as he stands in the centre of the mushroom circle, there's a humming in the distance; Wirt ignores both.

"Oh. you should use our magic well searcherer to find it!" 

Wirt turns the branch over in his hand, staring at it sadly.

"No, that's okay, although my destination is far from reach, the way of the pilgrim's heart is one of constant dismay." 

(Despite the general wariness he felt around his brother, reciting poetry to him was easy- he was too young to understand most of it and he had too poor a memory to ever accidentally repeat any of it.)

"Thats cool, hey Wirt, who's that mysterious figure loomin' in the distance?"

"W-wha" Wirt just about chokes out the beginning of his question when the distant humming turns quickly into the roar of an engine. 

He grabs Greg and jumps to the side, landing roughly on his back. A moped screeches to a halt in front of them, and Wirt lets out an extremely undignified squeal at the spray of mud the wheels kick up onto his clothes.

Just great.

The driver in question gets off the bike with practiced ease. They take off the helmet and Wirt's breath hitches uncomfortably in his throat.

The girl is extremely pretty, with soft looking red hair tied hastily back into a bobbin. Her cheeks are flushed but Wirt can see a few freckles spotting her face. 

The only negative was she was scowling. And quite scarily too, may he say.

"Huh. so you guys must be the new neighbours."

She already sounds annoyed from the whole conversation, and Wirt isn't exactly sure what to say. Honestly? He's a little miffed. What right did _she_ have to be angry at them?

Luckily, Greg can't read a room or in this case, mushroom clearing. 

"We're adventurers! We're trying to find the magic evil well of good luck… I don't know what exactly the well does yet so I thought I'd keep an open mind." He shrugs at their blank questioning stares.

"We were looking for the well, but we were just about to leave. We don't want to get in the way of... that" Wirt gestures vaguely to the moped- death machine. 

"Nuh-uh! you'll have to fight us for the well- when we find it"

Greg jumps once with determination, as if this is some declaration of war.

"Hey, it's all yours, just don't jump too high, or you'll fall right through."

"Huh?" looking down, Wirt sees the mud had been pushed away, revealing a sliver of a wooden door.

"Great Scott, the magic evil well of good luck!"

"Gah! Greg, move!"

"Okie dokie" he says, walking off, bored of the conversation- and the well, apparently.

"Sorry about him, that's Greg, I'm Wirt" he sticks his hand out only to find it covered in mud, embarrassed, he jerks it back and wipes it hastily on his already muddy pant leg.

"Beatrice." the girl says.

"I'm surprised your family was allowed rent, Grandma doesn't normally let people with kids rent the palace."

"W-why"

"Well, you know because of the disappearances? All those other kids just-" she makes a poof motion with her hands and shrugs.

Wirt pales significantly 

"What?! No one told us anything about-"

"Cat! Wirt, there's a cat!! a _cat_!"

"Yes Greg, I hear you." Annoyed, he turns his attention to his brother, who's clutching a black cat close to his chest.

"His name's Giddle Mc Cinderblick and he loves me!" 

The cat's squirms vigorously out of Greg's arms.

"Oh, you." 

The cat huffs, and struts silently over to Beatrice, who scoops him up.

"This is Enoch, he's kinda the local stray." Beatrice says, stroking him gently

"Huh." it was Wirt's turn to be skeptical.

"What?" Beatrice snaps, rubbing Enoch gently behind the ear.

"It's just funny, how comfortable he is around you- and also, strays don't often get names." He smirks as though he caught her in some big lie, he knows he's being ridiculous.

What does he care if the cat's hers or not?

"My sister named him." she mumbles, "and our family feeds him, sometimes."

"Oh, so he's just some regular old wusspuss, huh?" Wirt is taken aback slightly by the low purr from the cat- the gleam of intelligence in its eyes.

He has nothing to worry about. _Cats don't understand english._

"He is _not_ a wusspuss" flushing slightly, Beatrice scowls again, and for a moment Wirt feels kind of bad.

Before he can say anything to redeem himself, though, she's pointing to the well.

"Be more careful around that, supposedly it's so deep that if you fell down to the bottom and looked up- you'd see a sky full of stars in the middle of the day." 

She says this to Greg, smiling slightly at how wide his eyes go.

"Or, y'know," her gaze turns to Wirt, "Jump on it some more. I don't really care."

Wirt's face flushes in anger and a touch of embarrassment.

"Cool! we should get some rope and go on down there!" Greg says.

"No! Definitely don't do that- there are plenty of other places to explore- Greg, was it?"

"A pleasure, m'lady" he holds his hand out and Beatrice takes it with a smile.

In the distance, a voice calls sternly for three names- one of which is Beatrice's

"Well, I better fly, nice to meet you Greg, and uh, Wirt?"

"What?"

"You might wanna wear gloves next time you come down here."

"Huh? Why?" He's less confused and more annoyed now, at her seemingly random conversation points. He twists the branch nervously in his hands.

"That stick-"

"Magic well finder." Greg cuts in.

"That magic well finder is poison oak. See ya."

With a startled yelp, Wirt promptly drops the branch rubbing his hands frantically on his trouser legs.

Without another word, Beatrice gets on her bike, roars the ignition and rides away.

Although he knows it's childish and pointless, Wirt takes a page from his brother's book and blows the loudest raspberry he can. Greg, clueless, copies him and laughs. 

Wirt locks eyes with Enoch who just shakes his furry head and scampers away.

Back at the Pink Palace, Wirt scratched nervously at the nasty red rash rising on the palm of his hand.

"And then we nearly fell down a well!" Greg says, recounting the events to his father.

"Oh- oh my. Wirt- is this, is this true?" Jonathan Palmer's eyes were wide with poorly concealed anxiousness, and Wirt cringed internally as he wondered if that's what he looked like all the time.

"Answer your father, Wirt." His mother said, absentmindedly answering one of her endless work emails. 

"He's _not_ my dad!" 

She rolls her eyes at him before going back to her work.

(Wirt knew it wasn't like that- but he can't help be reminded of his father- no time for anyone or anything but the work in front of him, always so disappointed in Wirt, in the life he had-)

"We didn't nearly fall down the well- Greg just jumped a bit on it because he didn't know it was there- this girl Beatrice told us to be careful though." He scowls as the mention of his new nemesis.

"Right, well I'd take her advice." Jonathon ruffles Greg's hair. He looks like he wants to say something to Wirt, but he stops himself. Wirt isn't too bothered.

"Oh, that reminds me, Wirt some girl left this for you at the door- that Beatrice girl, I guess?" His mother says, handing him a parcel and looking at him for the first time in the conversation.

Wirt looks at the package warily, unravelling it slowly as though whatever was inside would jump out and kill him. He's surprised when instead of his untimely demise, he finds himself looking down at a wooden figure, about the size of his palm.

The figure bears an uncanny resemblance to him.

Because why not.

It's almost freaky, the fact they're both wearing blue raincoats with brown boots. In delicate writing at the bottom _The Pilgrim_ is written. He looks at the note, written in much more scraggly handwriting than the label.

_Hey Wart, my mom found this in our attic- look familiar?_

_-B_

His nose scrunches at the distasteful nickname, but that's not his top priority right now.

"How- that's just absurd i don't-"

A part of him wants to throw it away, burn it and get rid of it for good.

He slips it into his pocket.

"John, I'm almost finished the first draft, would you mind looking over it for me?"

And that was that.

The house fell silent, save for the clicking of keys and odd creaking in the floorboards from Jonathan, who had retired upstairs to edit.

Greg sighs, tapping his feet idly on the wood floor, before running upstairs.

"So uh, Mom, I kinda accidentally held poison oak and uh my hand's all junked up." He chuckles nervously despite the sting of his palms.

"That's nice dear…"

"And uh, hey Beatrice was saying that kids have gone missing on the property before, so i was thinking we should probably be careful- what with Greg and all-"

"Are there two c's in success, or one? I can never remember."

She was never like this before the move, or the stupid promotion that moved them here in the first place.

Deciding he has literally, nothing else to do, Wirt takes another walk.

He runs into Greg on his way out, who then, of course insists on accompanying Wirt outside.

The back garden is a wide open space, and Wirt assumes it could be nice in the summer, but all the plants are shrivelled and dead in the deep autumn season.

Wirt realises that while he still adamantly hates the move they've made, the refreshing poem ideas he was getting was… nice.

The garden is more or less a dead end, but the walk is nice, if a little boring-

until it's suddenly, not.

The wall stands at about nine feet in height, and stretches as far as Wirt can see, with one dark oak half-gate standing, old but strong in front of him.

The gate comes up halfway to his hip, and on it's top more cold stone sat.

Wirt wouldn't normally think much of it, but something about how shadows seemed to roll from the cracks in the concrete, the way the only greenery within a 5 foot radius was a feeble clump of shrivelled ivy, clinging weakly to the side of the door- these seemed to draw him in, like a moth to a flame.

"Huh, that's uh, that's strange." 

Wirt bends to slide open the rusted bolt, only to find it held firmly shut under an old padlock.

"Why would they keep it locked?" Wirt mutters, mainly to himself.

"Maybe there's a pirate fairy hostage in there! Or frogs!"Greg exclaims, running off back to the house.

"Wha- Greg! wait!"

  
  


It had taken some convincing, but eventually with some persistence from Wirt and Greg's puppy dog eyes, their mother sighed deeply and rooted through the key drawer.

Eventually she found a long key that seemed to match the description of the padlock the boys had given her, and handed it to Wirt with a small tired smile.

"Now, please boys, let me work."

They had run off before anything else could be said. Amy was just glad to see them working somewhat together.

  
  


Back at the gate, and slightly out of breath, Wirt turned the key over in his (still very irritated, thanks for asking mom) hand; it was old- right down from the rust to the intricate leaf pattern on the end.

"C'mon Wirtticus, let's go get them frogs!"

With a breath and a small roll of his eyes, Wirt slid the key into the lock, relieved when a small 'click' sounded, with surprisingly little resistance.

The door creaks open, the hinges screeching from years of remaining untouched.

Beside him, Greg gasps and-

There's nothing there.

Just another wall.

Of course there is.

Wirt, in disappointment, slaps the stone- just to double check it's really there.

"But, but why would they- that makes no _sense_."

Greg shrugs. "Ain't that just the way." Before wandering off to explore more of the area.

Wirt turns to leave, hands in his pockets, absentmindedly reaching for his doll- to find only lint a quarter. Confused, he looks on the surrounding ground for his slightly creepy lookalike- as he turns back to the gate, he sees it standing there atop the shining wood. Staring at him silently as though expecting him to do something about the sealed gate. Confused and slightly concerned, he picks the doll up and places it gently back in his trouser pocket.

The gate seems to whisper to him, to come closer, put his hand up to the wall and fall right through, as though the concrete was nothing but water in a waterfall, leading him to another world-

"Step back from that wall, boy!"

With a squeal, Wirt jumps back, landing flat on his backside as the old man whose voice the body belonged to came closer.

"You, take your brother and you get _off_ these grounds- you hear me?" the man shouts, barrelling towards Wirt. 

"No, no, no, no sorry- we're- we aren't trespassing, we, we live here!" Wirt says, frantically scooting backwards.

The man seems to be about fifty- although harsh frown lines and his hunched back gave him the impression of many years of hardships. His angered face turns to one of disbelief, then confusion.

"No, that can't be right, Cecile promised- she promised, no more children not ever, ever again." He takes his hat from his head and twists it anxiously in his hands.

"Wirt- what's that man gettin all worked up about?"

"Shh, Greg"

"You shh!"

"Shh!"

"Thirty years I've worked these grounds, and I've never, _never_ asked for a damn thing. The one thing i said- no kids- _no kids_. And what does she do?" He was rambling now frowning hard as he muttered softly to himself.

"Greg, we should go-"

Wirt grabs Greg to leave when the Man takes Greg's shoulders in his hands.

"Thirty _years_ I've been the Groundskeeper here, boy- she promised no more kids. Whatever you do, do not go through that gate! no more kids… after Anna-"

Wirt moves frantically to pull Greg back from the man- Greg doesn't seem all that bothered as he gives the Groundskeeper a thumbs up.

"No problemoe, Mr.Sir!"

"Beware boys- Beware the Beast!"

"....Okay thank you, let's go Greg."

They walk swiftly back inside, feeling the burning gaze of the frantic Groundskeeper on their back the whole time.

Dinner is particularly dismal that night- potatoes and with undercooked cabbage and scrappy beef. The company is less than welcome in Wirt's opinion.

"Oh my twitchy witchy boys, I think you are so nice, I give you bowls of porridge and I give you bowls of ice-cream!" Jonathon sings, plating the rest of the slimy goop they're trying to pass as food.

This earns a boisterous laugh from Greg, accompanied with a huff from Wirt.

"Why don't _you_ cook, mom?" he says, poking the meal in morbid dismay.

His mother sighs, but at least she seems to actually be hearing him. 

"We've been over this- Jonathan cooks, I clean- at least until the editorial is up."

He looks soberly to the wooden doll on the table.

"Think they're trying to poison me?"

The doll's body is rocked, agreeing with Wirt. 

"So, Wirt." John says, filling up the silence, "That Beatrice girl, huh?"

"What- what about her?" Wirt cannot believe this. He is _not_ having this conversation right now.

"Well, she seems like a lovely young girl-"

"She's not. She nearly ran us over."

"That just means she likes you!"

"That makes no sense whatsoever-"

"Is Wirt gonna get a girlfriend?" chimes in Greg.

"Shut _up_ Greg!"

His mother gasps, her eyes narrowing significantly. 

"Wirt! We do not tell each other to shut up! Apologise to your brother."

"Yeah, whatever, sorry Greg."

"Yeesh, I see that was a touchy subject huh?" John says, breaking the silence that had fallen over the table.

Wirt stands up, the abrupt screech of his chair startling his family at the table.

"I'm going to bed."

"Wirt, darling it's eight thirty!"

"Good _night_ "

Storming up to his room, he slams the door behind him, albeit harder than intended.

"Whatever!" he throws his hands up "Stupid Jonathan suggesting we move and stupid mom agreeing and stupid greg who- who is so _okay_ with it all."

It just wasn't fair. Why did Greg get to be so casual with everything, to not care what other people thought?

(Wirt was not jealous of his brother. Not even slightly.)

He thinks again about the gate in the garden, remembers the leaf- shaped key still sitting in his pocket. He thinks about the Groundskeeper and how scared he had looked.

What was there to be scared of? Weeds? More bricks?

_After Anna-_

_Grandma doesn't normally let people with kids rent the palace._

Wirt's head hurt from all the events of the day, it was just too much.

With a huff, he changes quickly into his pyjamas and crawls into bed, thinking of a poem he had read right before the move.

_O hear this tale of misery and pain-_

_a melancholic man with broken pride_

_is curs'd with affliction thus explain'd:_

_he lacks a friend in whom he can confide,_

Of _course_ he knew he was being dramatic, but that was his whole thing. He hated this place, he just wanted to be _home_. Home was where Mom cooked, and he had his friends at school and Sarah-

Sarah…. He never even got to tell her how much he liked her- just left her a dumb mixtape, like a coward. 

_O hear this tale of misery and pain-_

_a melancholic man with broken pride_

With these words ringing softly in his head, he drifted gently off to sleep, not even caring to notice The Pilgrim doll had slipped right out from his pocket once again.


	3. There is a light, for the lost and the meek.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Wirt is awoken by a scratching at his bed-post, He discovers the Unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.... I wish i had a valid reason for disappearing but i don't. <3

A scratching on his bedpost was enough to make him wake from his half-sleep. Grumbling slightly, he leans over, surprised to see, of all things, a turtle.

Okay…

Now fully awake he sits up and moves to get a closer look at the creature, wondering where it came from, why it was at the end of his bed.

As he approached it, however it scurried away much faster than Wirt had thought possible for turtles.

Seized with an overwhelming curiosity, he scrambles to follow the scuttling creature.

He follows the turtle through the whole house, being careful passing by Greg’s door, always open just a wink, even though Greg could most likely sleep through a hurricane. His mom and John’s door was firmly shut, but even so Wirt hears John’s snores as he passes by.

Wirt isn’t particularly sure  _ why _ he felt the need to follow, but at the same time, he didn’t bother to stop and question himself, not even when the turtle climbed through the kitchen window, which had been slightly ajar. Not even bothering to put shoes on, Wirt followed eagerly into the garden. Almost like a sort of trance.

This continued on for some time, when eventually the turtle stopped by the Old Gate at the back of the garden, causing Wirt to huff in disappointment.

“Well, so much for that,” he mutters, “The stupid gate doesn’t even-”

Then, to Wirt’s utter confusion and shock. The turtle nudges the Gate open smoothly. As though it wasn’t locked and rusted at all.

Surging forwards, he throws the gate open, and is not met with bland, cold stone as expected. But rather, a long, swirling tunnel.

He moves to enter the tunnel, excited and unbelievably perplexed, but hesitates as he thinks once more of the Groundskeeper's words. 

_ Danger. Beware. No more. _

It all sounded rather exciting.

He moves slowly into the tunnel.

It’s longer than he first anticipated, and it takes him several minutes until he finally gets to the other end, where the turtle is waiting beside another gate, cracked slightly ajar. With a nod to the turtle, Wirt gives a mighty push against the gate, tumbling out the other side to….

Another garden.

No.

The  _ same _ garden.

It takes him several minutes to realise that he’s walked away from his garden at the Pink palace, and returned back to the exact same place.

Although, it wasn’t entirely the same, the flowers, once dull and slumping, now stood tall and healthy from what Wirt could see in the dark. Despite it being the middle of the night, a warm glow omitted from the kitchen, where he could see silhouettes moving around. 

Slowly, he walked to the door, and as he entered the warm smells of cooking dinner filled his nostrils and a soft humming filled the air.

He looked around the kitchen, getting a strange sense of deja vu. It was the same kitchen as his one across the tunnel, but under the warm lights and nice furniture, it was barely recognisable. What caught his eye next was the source of the humming, and Wirt had to blink an extra few times to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

Sure enough, there his mother stood, bustling around making what looked to be excessive amounts of food. 

“Mom what- what’re you doing here in the middle of the-”

“Oh, good! You are just in time for supper!” His mother turns around and that’s when Wirt sees it. 

She’s made entirely of wood.

Like a life sized doll, she once again busies herself with the food in front of her, the way she would when she used to cook meals when it was just her and Wirt. 

He marvelled at how smoothly this strange woman moved, almost effortlessly light, as though made not from wood or even flesh, but of clouds and air. Her skin shone against the warm overhanging lights smooth and polished, and her eyes and a certain human quality to them, although they, like the rest of her, were made of wood.

“You’re not my mom.” He gasps, stepping backwards, out of fright or confusion he is unsure. “My mom isn’t- she’s not-”

“Made from wood?” The imposter supplies, as though this was an entirely normal and expected conversation. Wirt nods dumbly and she laughs.

“Well of course not, silly. I’m your Other Mother. Now, go tell your Other Father that dinner is ready.” 

He sighs, he just can’t escape this no matter what strange woody parallel world he’s in.

“Mom- Other Mom… John’s not my uh ‘Other’ Father.”

“Who’s John?” a voice behind him says, and Wirt jumps. He hadn’t heard that voice in years.

He twists around and there stands his father- his real, not real father, made of wood, yes but there all the same.

Without thinking he rushes forward, hugging the not- man before him. His chest was hard but his arms still offered a strange comfort. He couldn’t remember his father’s face- nearly nine years since he last saw him cause the memories to become hazy. But now looking at the soft features, he knew this was his father. It felt right.

“Oh my god! How- how are you here?” Wirt says, delighted. His Other Mother places food gently on the table, chuckling at Wirt.

“I thought you’d appreciate a nice family dinner. It’s been too long, hasn’t it dear?” The Other Mother says, standing by the table head tilting slightly. He finds himself nodding, dumbfounded as he sits by the table.

Other Father shoots him a wink as Other Mother brings to the table a huge, steaming chicken. Wirt’s stomach rumbles as he looks at the amazing food in front of him. Green beans and corn in pretty porcelain bowls accompanied by mash potatoes, carrots and peas.

“We give our thanks and ask to bless our mother’s golden chicken breast.” His Other Father snickers, gesturing grandly to the woman across from him, who gives a hearty laugh before digging into the food.

“Dear I think it’s time we bring out the gravy boat!” The Other Father says, wooden eyes somehow bright with excitement. “You like boats, don’t you kid?”

“Of course!” Wirt says, scoffing as if it was obvious. He knew nothing of boats, but he didn’t want to let his father down, now did he?

“Oh, very well boys.” His Other Mother picks up a small bell beside her, it rings chiming through the dining room as a small boat chugs around the bend of bowls and plates. It’s a small dainty thing full of gravy. It was colourful, with small painted bunting on the side.

It sails up to Wirt’s plate and he laughs in delight as the gravy splashed over his meal.

There is a contented silence that fills the room as they eat, before his Other Mother breaks it.

“Would you like a drink, dear?” She asks, looking at Wirt expectantly. He almost misses it, too busy scoffing down food he missed earlier.

“Oh uhm- yeth pleath.” He nods earnestly looking around for pitchers to poor himself a drink. Instead, the Other Mother rings her bell again, and down twirls the chandelier from above Wirt’s head. Beside each light, there’s a pitcher of every type of juice he could think of- mango smoothies, apple juice, soda.

“What’re you in the mood for, champ?” The Other Father says, as he reaches for a lime soda himself.

“Uhm… vanilla milkshake?” He says, looking unsure to his Other Mother, who nods in delight and pours him a glassful.

He gulps it down, not realising how thirsty he had been previously, and barely notices His Other Mother take away his plate and replace it with a round pink cake. Candles seem to sprout from the icing, self igniting as words form seamlessly on the top. Not for the first time that night does Wirt think he’s dreaming. 

The words that appear, however, cause an odd cold feeling to form in Wirt’s stomach, his palms sweating. He’s sure this is some sort of strange dream.

_ Welcome Home! _

“Home,” He says, looking up unsure at the two figures- so warm looking, welcoming, despite the wooden exterior.

“Well of course, we’ve been waiting for you, Wirt. We’ve been waiting so long.” His Other Mother takes his Other Father’s hand and they smile at him. Wirt feels the knot in his stomach loosen.

“Funny, I… I didn’t even know I had another mother. Does everyone?”

“Well of course they do, kiddo, why wouldn’t they?” 

“You mean, Greg and all… He has Other Parents. Are you also Greg’s other mother?” He points to the woman across from him who shakes her head bemusedly. 

“Dear, you’ll make yourself blue in the face with all these questions! Never-mind all that, let’s eat!” 

“Oh, yes!” his Father says, clapping his hands together in a dull clunk sound. “After we finish eating, we can play a game, no?”

“Perfect! We love games.”

“I- you mean, like, like hide and seek or something?” He laughs, leg starting to bounce. His Other Mother’s smile doesn’t waver.

“Exactly like hide and seek! Hide and seek in the rain.”

The Other Mothers fingers tap against the table, a dull creak sounding from the joint of her fingers.

“But it’s not-”

Crack! A flash of lightning as rain pours steadily against the window.

“What about the mud? I’m just in pyjamas and slippers I don’t really know about getting them all dirty, and besides I think i might be a bit too old to play games like-”

“Nonsense, nonsense! We love mud! Mud baths, mud facials. It’s a great healer for poison oak!” Other Mother says, taking his hand in hers.

He pulls away as if burnt, the cold knots returning to his stomach.

“How’d you know I-” He gulps, breathing deep.

“You know what? I’d love to play but I’m just so tired I might just go straight to bed.” he says, rising from his chair. “Plus I gotta get back to Greg, and my mom-”

“I’m your Mother.” She says, smile growing wider.

“Oh yeah, sure… I mean my other, other mother.” He gives a small unsure laugh. “I should get back to bed.” He says, trying to give his voice an air of finality.

“Of course, kid. It’s all made up.” His Other Father seems to appear behind him and Wirt jumps, twisting around. Was his father’s voice always that deep?

“But… but the gate-”

“Come along now.”

Wirt, stuck between two Other Parents, shuffles along with them. Along the top corridor he notices his Other Parent’s room, the bathroom, and his room.

No third bedroom.

No Greg.

Whatever thought process this might have led to was cut short when he sees his room. Poetry lines the walls just like his old house, but neater and more coherently placed, with his Clarinet hanging proudly beside his bed, which is made with his favourite green covers. Big beautiful books straight from Wirt’s dreams are piled on his desk along with cassettes strewn about the surface, as though Wirt had been there moments before dinner, winding them up.

What he’s most excited about however, is the picture that sits on his bedside table. One from Halloween last year Wirt wore that weird gnome outfit and beside him his best friend Sarah, they’re both in the middle of laughing at something she said. It’s his favourite picture. 

Movement from his left brings Wirt’s attention from the picture as his Other Mother holds out a jar, scooping some of the mud from inside.

“Oh right… That.” He says unsure, holding his hand out for her. The substance is surprisingly cold, but not unpleasant.

He lays down in the bed and as his Other Parents switch off the lamp, the last thing he hears before sleeping is a soft, deep voice that sounds neither like his Other Mother nor his Other Father.

_ “Sweet dreams.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a shot everytime i say Other Mother/Father


End file.
